


With No Spine Intact

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blackcest, M/M, MWPP Era, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-17
Updated: 2008-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't always get what you want, even when you're Sirius Black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With No Spine Intact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmere/gifts).



> Written for [](http://cmere.livejournal.com/profile)[**cmere**](http://cmere.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hp_springsmut.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_springsmut**](http://hp_springsmut.livejournal.com/) 2008.

**i.**

A fire burns in the hearth, painting the corners of the common room in a strange, yellowish glow. The flames are large and full, crackling as they stretch and twist together, but Regulus is cold. Exhaustion prickles at his eyes, and his skin feels thin and tight. Shivering, he shrinks deeper inside his robes and burrows against the arm of the couch. His Defence books slides from his lap, hitting the floor with a dull thud he barely notices.

He does not want to go home, but he no longer wants to be here.

Sirius left three days before Christmas, and his departure made Grimmauld Place into something quiet and dark. His mother's sharp eyes and sharper words punctuated his father's stony silences, and Sirius' ghost lingered in the shadows, in the acrid smell of burning fabric and the red and gold Quidditch gear Kreacher hid in the cupboard under the stairs. Toward the end of the holiday, Regulus wanted nothing more than to return to school, but in the last two days, Sirius has not spoken to him once. Sirius will not look at Regulus if he can avoid it, and that hurts in a way Regulus cannot describe, is a harder slap in the face than the owls Regulus sent to the Potters', all of which Sirius returned unopened.

Regulus frowns at his hands. His skin seems pale against the black of his robes, and his nails are ragged at the edges, worn down from being bitten.

The fire snaps and pops, hissing with a sudden shower of embers. Jonathan Crabbe slips out the common room door, holding a heavy cloak under one arm, and Hesperia Nott curls up in one of the wingbacked chairs with a suspiciously false yawn. Across the room, Avery and Mulciber are concealing a whispered conversation behind a game of chess, their heads bent close and their mouths scarcely moving. The fire snaps again, and Parkinson pauses at the dormitory stairs, clutching a book too old and dire to have been taken from the school library. Mulciber's eyes narrow as his gaze slants toward Snape, and Avery's fingers twitch over his rook.

The dungeons are not a comfort tonight; its stones seem forbidding and thick and the air tastes heavy and stale. Regulus can feel the castle pressing down on him, thinks he can hear the lake lapping at the walls.

He stares at the fire, but he wants to see the stars.

\--

_Sirius' door is locked, but it submits to Regulus' Alohomora with a whispered creak. Inside, Regulus finds Sirius standing at his window. He has his broom in one hand and a grotty pair of denims in the other, and his trunk is sitting on his bed, yawning open around the Muggle clothes he's not allowed to wear in the house. He looks tired and worn, his eyes shadowed and his jaw pulled taut, and the yellowish hint of a half-healed bruise lingers on the curve of his cheek._

_"What?" he asks sharply._

_Regulus steps into the room, letting the door fall closed behind him. "You're leaving."_

_"Yes," Sirius replies, tossing the denims at his trunk. He props his broom against the wall and runs his hand through his hair. "Tonight, if I can manage it."_

_"It's Christmas," Regulus says quietly._

_"Not for three more days," Sirius says. He shrugs and turns back to the window. "Besides, it's not like I'll be missed."_

_"I'll miss you."_

_Sirius ignores this, until Regulus lays a hand on his shoulder. He faces Regulus then, his mouth twisting into a tight frown, and pushes Regulus away with a sigh._

_"Don't," Sirius snaps. "You won't talk me out of it. I've a place to stay and a bit of money saved up, and I'm not spending another night in this house." He sighs again. "I won't stay just because you think you'll be lonely."_

_Regulus reaches out, leaning close as his fingers twist in the sleeve of Sirius' shirt. Their lips meet clumsily, their teeth catching in the rough slide, but Sirius' mouth parts under the slick press of Regulus' tongue, the way it always has, the way it did before Sirius found a new family and decided he'd rather curl up with Potter at night. Sirius moans quietly, a soft, broken sound that shivers over Regulus' skin. Regulus pushes Sirius back, pinning Sirius to the wall, his hands closing on Sirius' waist as he works his thigh between Sirius' legs._

_"No," Sirius says, but his voice is thin and breathless. "We're not doing this."_

_Regulus kisses him again, with too much tongue and his thumbs digging bruises into Sirius' hips, because they are doing this. Because Sirius shouldn't leave, and they never should've stopped. Sirius' eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, but he's as hard as Regulus is, and he's not trying to move or push Regulus away. He lets Regulus lick and suck at his mouth, and a noise catches in his throat when Regulus rocks up hard against him. Regulus has missed this, missed having Sirius' cock pressed against his and having Sirius' skin under his hands. He drags his lips down Sirius' jaw, smiling into Sirius' neck as Sirius' hands fist in his hair._

_"Stay," Regulus says, his fingers fumbling with Sirius' flies._

_Sirius' cock twitches as soon as it slides across Regulus' palm. "Come with me."_

_"I can't, you know I can't," Regulus replies, tucking his head into Sirius' shoulder as he rubs himself against Sirius' hip. "I won't -- I won't leave my home only to share you with Potter."_

_Sirius pushes Regulus away hard, laughing harshly as Regulus stumbles and falls to the floor._

**ii.**

James has always kissed like he has something to prove, but this is very different. This is something far more desperate and far more dangerous -- like he's short on time, like he's afraid Sirius is going to get away from him -- and Sirius doesn't think he's ever been this hard. The bed creaks and sighs, dipping as James rolls Sirius underneath him. His mouth is wet and open, his tongue pushing insistently against Sirius' own, and fingers snag so hard his Sirius' hair that Sirius shudders and arches up against him.

They're down to their pants, and James' cock is digging into Sirius hip. His hand flutters over Sirius' side, then twitches up to pin Sirius to the bed by his shoulder. Their legs tangle, sweaty and slick, and James rubs against Sirius with quick, harsh jerks of his hips. Sirius pulls James closer, lets his hands wander the curve of James' arse. He feels James' lips on his jaw and James' teeth on his neck, and he works a hand between them, shoving down James' pants so he can get his fingers around James' cock.

James bucks into it, pushing against Sirius' hand as his head snaps back up for a kiss. Their mouths meet roughly, sloppy tongues and sharp, white teeth, and Sirius digs his nails into the warm skin of James' back. He strokes James the same way James is kissing him, hard and fast and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do. James shudders above him, his hips working to meet Sirius' rhythm, and he comes with his face hidden in Sirius' neck and a moan that sounds like Sirius' name.

It's been a year since this started, a year since the night James crawled into Sirius' bed and laid a sweaty, tentative hand on Sirius' thigh. In that time, it's always been just this, just kisses and hands and the frantic rise and fall of their twisting bodies. Sirius has never wanted more, never needed more, because it's James, and that makes it more than enough, so when James slides down his body with a lazy, sated smile, Sirius shivers, gasping as the bottom drops out of his stomach.

James does this like he does everything else: eagerly, and with everything he has. His mouth is sloppy and unpractised, but it's also hot and wet and soft all at once, and Sirius cannot breathe. He's been half in love with James for most of his life, and now James is sucking him off, his lips stretched tight around Sirius' cock and his hands splayed on Sirius' hip. Sirius slides his hand into James' hair, his fingers slipping through the messy strands, choking out a moan as James' tongue curls around the head.

"Fuck, James."

James looks up at him, his face flushed and his lips wet and red, and Sirius closes his eyes.

\--

_Sirius wakes to greyish light peeking through the crack in his bed hangings and James curled warmly against his side. His head is pillowed on James' shoulder, his breath ghosting over Sirius' skin, and Sirius just watches as the sliver of morning intruding on them paints strange shadows across James' face. He can still feel James' mouth on him, can still see James' cheeks hollowing as his cock slides past James' wet, swollen lips. He's hard instantly, and he rolls onto his side so he can rub himself against James' hip._

_"Sirius?" James asks. His voice is thick and he rubs blearily at his eyes. "What time is it?"_

_Sirius yawns and slides his hand over James' waist. "Early."_

_James tilts his head up, his lips catching the corner of Sirius' mouth. His kisses are slower now, lazy and sleep-stale, and his fingers thread through Sirius' hair rather than pull. He presses closer, tangling his legs with Sirius', humming as Sirius' tongue slips against his own. Sirius shifts until he's on his side, until their cocks ride against each other and the soft, delicious friction sends heat spreading up his spine._

_Sirius likes these moments, the quiet stretch of time before sunrise when James belongs only to him._

_He drags his mouth down James' jaw, a trail of lips and tongue that pauses just below James' ear. James shivers, his breath coming in short, stuttered hitches. Sirius smiles against James' skin and palms James' cock through his pants._

_"Wait, Sirius -- stop," James says, leaning away and pushing at Sirius' shoulder. "We can't."_

_"Of course we can," Sirius replies. It really is early; Sirius can hear Peter snoring, and this close to the moon, Remus sleeps like the dead. "They won't be up for another hour, at least."_

_"No." James rolls onto his back and gropes under the pillow for his glasses. "It's -- it's not that. I'm just." Sighing, he favours Sirius with a careful, sideways glance. "It's Valentines tomorrow. I've asked Lily to Hogsmeade."_

_Sirius breathes. "She said no, didn't she?"_

_"Not exactly. I mean, she didn't say yes, but she didn't say no, either," James replies. "She's, um -- she's going to tell me today. She said she needed to think about it, but Peter said Eglantine Banks told him that she means to go with me." James' mouth curves with a soft smile. "That she wants to go with me."_

_"Oh," Sirius says slowly. A chill sweeps over his skin, and he tugs the blankets up over his hip. "Okay."_

_"I've been -- you know." James glances at Sirius again; his smile slips, and he pushes his glasses up his nose, a habit Sirius knows is more from nerves than necessity. "I've been waiting for this."_

_Sirius looks at the bed hangings, at the canopy, at anything but James. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He can hear his heart, hear the slow, dull thud inside his chest. "Just, last night, you were--"_

_"--Yeah, I know." James reaches over and runs his hand up Sirius' arm. "I'll miss this, and I've always wanted -- only, I'm not -- I'm not, um."_

_"No," Sirius says quickly. "I'm not, either."_

**iii.**

The Great Hall is stuffy and loud. The sticky heat of late spring has managed to creep inside the castle, and the students fight the sharp clatter of flatware and serving dishes with raised voices and harsh laughter. Regulus sandwich is cured ham on thick slabs of rye, but the sudden pink of the meat against the rough blandness of the bread makes Regulus' stomach turn. He's not hungry, hasn't been hungry since he allowed the skull and snake to be burned into his arm.

Overhead, the floating candles flicker against a clear sky slowly emptying of colour. The stars are not yet visible, washed out by what is left of the setting sun.

Regulus frowns at his sandwich and clears the sourness from his mouth with a slow swallow of pumpkin juice. His skin itches and crawls; he sleeps less than he eats, but when he collapses into bed each night he cannot make himself close his eyes. Next to him, Mulciber and Avery debate the benefits of Haruspicy against the general uselessness of Divination. Snape ignores his food for his Potions book as he pretends not to listen, and Regulus pushes his plate further away.

He studies the Gryffindor table, where Potter is telling a story with the aid of a Quidditch glove made into a puppet and a serving fork that still has string beans hanging limply from the tines. His Mudblood is tucked against his side, her arm around his waist and her hair spilling over both their shoulders. Sirius sits across from them, flanked by Pettigrew and Lupin. He nods in the right places, lifting his glass each time he barks out a laugh, but his smile is stretched and fake. A pointed space separates him from Lupin, and his eyes are shadowed and dark.

The enchanted ceiling shimmers as the sky begins to darken. The first stars are faint enough for pinpricks, but Regulus' own is not one of them.

His arm hurts, throbbing with a bone-deep ache that's dull but constant. He's been told the pain will lessen with time, but in the last few days it seems to have grown worse. His father is pleased and his mother is proud. Sirius would hate him if he knew, but these days, Sirius barely acknowledges him at all. Regulus misses Sirius more than he hates him, but he takes small comfort in knowing that Sirius' adoptive family is slowly falling apart.

Mulciber leans closer to Avery, his voice dropping to a whisper as their conversation drifts toward omens and portents, and Snape closes his book with a snap. The sandwiches disappear and the string beans shift into pudding, and Sirius brays as treacle drips from the end of Potter's fork.

Regulus grits his teeth against the heat curling under his skin and leaves his brother to his farce.

\--

_It's a quiet night, silent and still without the barest hint of a breeze, but the Shack is restless and loud, settling with pained creaks and long groans that rattle the floorboards. Sprawled across the dusty bed, Sirius stares at the ceiling, watching the ancient, suspended light fixture spin and sway on its cord. Sirius' head feels fuzzy and dirt is curling inside his nose. The bed seems to be leaning to one side, but Sirius is too tired to move and far too drunk to really care._

_Remus is sitting at the rickety piano, humming as he picks out the chorus to the latest Hobgoblins song. His tempo is wholly his own, and the notes thrum with the discordant twang of something that's tired and badly out of tune. He's playing with one hand, because the Firewhiskey bottle is clutched in the other. He pauses to find the next few beats with his voice, and Sirius throws a musty pillow at his head._

_"Enough," Sirius says, leaning up on his elbows._

_"No." Remus returns the pillow, as well as a bit of rawhide bone Peter bought for Padfoot. "I've almost got it."_

_Sirius huffs and tosses the bone to the floor. "You said that an hour ago," he complains. "Come here, before this light falls on my face."_

_"Ten minutes," Remus says slowly, "and if that light is going to fall, it'll do it whether I'm there or not." He plucks out a few more notes, then takes a long swig Firewhiskey. "I'd rather it not hit me, too."_

_"Hand me the bottle, then," Sirius says, pulling the pillow over his face. "If I pass out, I can't hear your yowling."_

_The bed shudders and dips, and Sirius peeks out from under the pillow. Remus is smiling down at him, his cheeks pink with alcohol and one eye hidden behind his fringe. He takes another swig, then presses the bottle into Sirius' hand. Sirius drinks quickly, wincing at the sour taste and the sudden burn that crawls down his throat. Remus smiles again, his nose wrinkling and his lips curving. He reaches for the bottle, but Sirius holds it up and back, until Remus has to stretch over him to get it._

_His chin bumps Sirius' jaw, and kissing him seems like the easiest thing in the world. Remus freezes for a moment, long enough for Sirius to lick his way inside his mouth, but he pulls back the moment their tongues brush and lays his hand on Sirius' chest._

_"Don't, Sirius -- just, don't."_

_Sirius wraps his hand around Remus' wrist. "Moony."_

_"No."_

_"I want to," Sirius insists, brushing his thumb over Remus' pulse. "I want to, and I know you -- well, I think you want to. I mean, you've been... you are -- you do want to, don't you?"_

_Remus' mouth folds into a thin line. "I do want to, but I'm not going to." He sighs and twists his wrist away from Sirius' hand. "I'm not him, and I never will be."_

_"It's not -- I'm not." Sirius sits up a little and pushes his hair out of his face. "James and I, we aren't... we weren't -- it's not like that, Moony. It isn't."_

_"It was, and you were," Remus says quietly. "Go to sleep. Hopefully, you won't remember this in the morning."_

**iv.**

Sirius' flat is tiny, just a single room on the third storey of a run down brownstone. The only window opens to an adjacent brick wall, and it's so close to the wrong side of London that it's practically in a Muggle district. McGonagall helped him find it and Uncle Alphard's money helped pay for it, but it's his -- the first thing he can call his own since he left his parents' house.

It's his, and he hates it. He hates the dingy walls, and the warped, uneven lino in what passes for the kitchen, and the rough, dusty carpet that's been tacked down everywhere else. He hates how the lift never works and the stairs always shake, and how his neighbour's pet Crup chews his copy of the Prophet. He hates the way the plumbing rattles, and the way the lights and laughter from the Wizarding local across the alley creep past his tattered curtains when he's trying to sleep.

Most of all, he hates that he has no one to share it with. Remus is splitting a slightly larger room with Peter in Diagon Alley, and James plans to take a flat with Lily when he finally leaves his parents'. Sirius doesn't even know where his brother is; he hasn't spoken with Regulus in over a year.

Sirius hasn't yet bothered to buy a couch. Instead, he slumps into the only chair at the crooked kitchen table and drinks Muggle beer under the single, naked lightbulb that hangs over his head. The six o'clock train rumbles by on its way to the better part of town, shaking the window and rattling the rickety fire escape. Sirius lights a cigarette with the tip of his wand and watches the sun disappear behind the flats perched above the local.

He starts a note to James, using the back of his grocery list and the Muggle Biro he found in his kitchen drawer the day he moved in, but he crumples it when he can't get past 'Dear Prongs.' He tries a note to Remus, but that stops short at just 'Dear,' and he doesn't see the point in writing Peter -- he's never been one to answer letters, and he's rarely home these days, because his new job has him working nights.

His hand twitches, sending the Biro skittering across the table. He stubs his cigarette out in a teacup he should've washed two days ago, and scrounges a quill and a scrap of proper parchment from the bottom of his school trunk. He scratches out the tail of an old Transfiguration essay and fills the rest of the space with three hastily scribbled words. He gives it to his owl without an address; he doesn't know it, and he's not really expecting a reply.

One hour and three beers later, his owl returns with his letter still tied to her leg. It's unopened, but two lines are scrawled across the front. Regulus' spidery hand is perfectly formed and painfully familiar.

_You once told me you wouldn't stay just because I thought I'd be lonely.  
I miss you, as well, but I won't come back just because you really are._


End file.
